


The Falling Out

by MizLizzy



Series: MizLizzy's Hopes and Dreams for Sherlock & John [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry Mycroft, Angry Sherlock, Angst, Big Brother Mycroft, Family Secrets, Holmes Brothers, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft and Sherlock Have Unresolved Issues, Nosy John, Nosy Mrs. Hudson, Protective Siblings, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:25:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizLizzy/pseuds/MizLizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little imagining about the mythical third Holmes brother. Where is he? Who is he? Could he be the reason Sherlock resents Mycroft as much as he does? I decided to write this little piece based on the notion that Sherlock has long resented Mycroft because the third brother left home and fell out of contact. Plan on expanding on this storyline in the future. Plus I like it when John gets nosy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Falling Out

John was a bit nervous about coming to 221b without an invitation today. Normally, he would at least text to let Sherlock know he was coming. It’s not like living there anymore, when one can come and go into one’s own flat as you please. But the whispered, frantic call from Mrs. Hudson and her abrupt hang-up urged him down Baker Street at a good clip. Approaching the door, he could hear raised voices coming from overhead, even with the doors and windows closed. His brow furrowed. _This is not good._

He opened the door quietly, hoping to give himself the element of surprise if needed. He stopped in the foyer where he saw Mrs. Hudson standing at the base of the stairs, with her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide. Once inside, he realized the voices were those of Sherlock and Mycroft. They were having quite a row. Sherlock had no compunction about raising his voice at any time, but to hear Mycroft in a yell was a bit shocking. He walked over to Mrs. Hudson and touched her arm, realizing she was trembling. He stood there with her and quietly eavesdropped on the argument.

“You. Utter. Bastard.” Sherlock spat. “If he shows up here, I will gladly let him in. And you will stay as far away from him as possible. I will always, always let him in. Do not presume to tell me who I will or will not allow into my own domicile.”

“Sherlock. Do not force my hand in this instance. I would not like to have to take action to prevent you from making a terrible decision and be forced to curtail your…autonomy.”

Sherlock loudly scoffed, “Ha. I’d like to see you try it.” His footsteps echoed through the stairwell as he paced the sitting room angrily. “I can’t even believe you still think you can control who I _care_ for. You might be able to watch my every move. You might be able to deduce my next action. You might be able to send your jack-booted thugs to grab me off the street and haul me to devil knows where. But you cannot – I repeat, most emphatically – you cannot control who I care for. And I always loved HIM more than I could ever love a creature like you.”

John was very disturbed. The amount of hatred and vitriol he heard in Sherlock’s voice was terrifying. It was tone he’d never heard before, even having witnessed blind fury in his friend long ere this. He could almost imagine sparks coming off him, spit flying from his lips as he ground out each hateful word towards Mycroft. He usually affected an air of spiteful indifference to Mycroft. This level of anger made the whole house seem black and evil. No wonder Mrs. H was trembling so. He pulled her into a side hug and she looked up at him, worriedly.

“You little piss-ant. You inconsequential little…insect. How dare you speak to me this way, Sherlock? I’m of a mind to do as you say, walk out that door and let him come here and destroy your life. And he will, Sherlock. He will. I tried to tell you this when he left. There are more pieces to this puzzle than you were ever privy to, Sherlock. I’m trying to tell you–”

John’s mind was spinning. Who could they be talking about? Was this about him? He couldn’t think of anyone else that Sherlock had ever admitted to caring for, besides himself. And some of the other comments fit – he did leave 221b, but it was for obvious reasons – why would Mycroft want to stop him seeing Sherlock? For some reason, his heart fell to think that Mycroft would not want him around Sherlock. He would never hurt Sherlock, so why----he jumped when Sherlock screamed again.

“You are trying to make excuses for WHAT YOU DID! You lied to Mummy and Daddy and they were going to send him away. He didn’t hurt Redbeard, and you know it! Your jealousy turned your words into lies and your lies made him have to leave! The whole chain of events that occurred was because of your own inadequacies and jealousy. You resented him because he was the oldest, the heir, and you were just ‘the spare’. But you got what you wanted, didn’t you? You told the lie, they believed you. They were going to send him to that…that HOME. You know he couldn’t live somewhere like that. So he ran away. And 20 years later he has never returned. Now, you say he’s back in England, and you think that I will turn my back on him? If you are right, and he is here, and he wants to come here I will welcome him, Mycroft be damned!”

John realized his mouth was wide open in astonishment. He looked down at Mrs. Hudson and saw his own shock reflected back at him. “A brother?” she whispered? “There’s another one?!” John’s mouth opened and closed, and he realized he looked like a fish out of water, so he shut his mouth and turned his face back towards the stairs.

“Careful, Sherlock, you know what happens when you let your emotions get away from you. I’m telling you he can’t be trusted. I have information that you are not privy to, things I cannot explain now, but you must know to be on your guard with Sherrinford. He hasn’t been laying low all these years. Sherrinford has been quite busy and not with the sorts of things you two used to do together. Please listen, I have ever tried to protect you, never hurt you…” Mycroft pleaded. You could almost hear the tears he fought back in his voice.

“Liar!” Sherlock spat. “If you cared for me more than your own stupid pride, Sherrinford would never have left. You could monitor my life, pull me out of death’s maw in Serbia, watch over Watson on the damned CCTV, release me from my obligations to MI6 a million times over, and you can never repair what you did. Because of you, I shut my heart down cold years ago because you are right – sentiment is a weakness and you fucking exploited it, everyone fucking exploited it, and I never would have opened it again if not for John. He is the only person, the ONLY person I have ever trusted that proved worthy.” [John’s heart skipped a beat, butterflies in the tummy. John opened up Sherlock’s heart? Good God. He licked his lips.] Sherlock continued, “You certainly didn’t. Mummy didn’t. Daddy didn’t. I used to think Sherrinford did, but obviously he didn’t care either because he never once looked back. So fuck all of you. FUCK YOU, ESPECIALLY, MYCROFT. You are the piece of shit in this equation. Get out of here and never, EVER, darken the door of my flat again. If you interfere with me, Sherrinford or John Watson I swear to every non-existent deity that I will turn your life into a waking nightmare. I’m tired of all your attempts to reconcile the past. You will never reconcile me.”

After such vehement shouting, the silence of the pause that followed seemed deafening.

“I should tell you the truth of what happened, Sherlock.” Mycroft said with spite, so quietly that Mrs. H and John strained to hear him. “I really ought to tell you everything about Sherrinford. This hero worship would stop immediately. I only refrain because of the irreparable harm it might do you. Isn’t that enough to know, to know that I have information about our brother that would change your opinion of him drastically? Can’t you trust me on this? Have I not done everything in my power to prove that you are my priority and to protect you, my objective? Like you, I’ve lived my life as far removed from emotions as I can, but I have always cared for you, brother mine, even in the face of your spite and indifference. Don’t. Push. Me. Take your hands off me! I’m leaving. I think I _will_ do as you ask. Goodbye, and good riddance. It shall be interesting to see how well you fare without my infrastructure which has held you up for so long.”

“I daresay I’ll be fine. Now. Get out, you fucking git.”

The door opened upstairs. John and Mrs. Hudson looked at each other in panic and alarm. Mrs. H grabbed John by the coat sleeve and dragged him quickly through the door of her flat. They shut the door quietly to the sound of Mycroft’s shoes stomping on the stairs. His anger was apparent even to the most basic of observers. They waited, John’s forehead against the door, his breathing ragged and his pulse thudding violently, until several moments after the front door of 221b slammed shut with an eerie finality.

His mind careened with all the information he had just received. Sherlock and Mycroft had an older brother? Sherlock had a brother he actually cared for? How had he never known about this? Sherlock had never said a word. Neither of the brothers had ever indicated anything. And Mr. and Mrs. Holmes never hinted either. He’d been to the Holmes’ manor a few times. There were no photographs to be seen of anyone other than Sherlock and Mycroft. Then again, now that he thought about it, there were very few pictures from the time period in which Sherlock would have been very young. His heart continued to keep it’s frantic pace as he remembered the anger in Sherlock’s voice, and the desperation in Mycroft’s. Who was to be believed? He agreed that Mycroft was an insufferable git, but he knew also that Mycroft cared for Sherlock as much as he was capable of caring for someone. Over the top of all of it was the thought that Sherlock valued John higher than even his own family. He felt exultation mixed with pity for Sherlock, how very empty his life was if John was all he had. And yet, he thought John was worthy of his affection? He felt enormously flattered, and never stopped to think about how this thought made his whole body tingle with pleasure. Yet, his thoughts were jumbled, confused with all the new information warring for precedence in his head, and when he looked over at Mrs. Hudson, her eyes were filled with tears as she seemed to be having similar thoughts.

“This is the key, Mrs. Hudson. This is exactly the key to why Sherlock is…well…Sherlock. It’s got to be. Have you ever heard him so passionate in the time you’ve known him?”

Edna Hudson looked down. “No. Even for all his raging tempers, I’ve never heard him that way. D’you think Mycroft is right, do you think this Sherrinford is a bad egg?”

“I’m not sure, Mrs. H. Sherlock doesn’t care for many people, that group is quite small. There must be something about him to make him so special. Considering the nature of the conversation we just heard, I’d say we’ll probably find out ourselves before too long.” He paused and looked at her, uncertainly. They _would_ find out, wouldn’t they? Since he’d never mentioned a third brother, would he continue to keep it a secret?

As this thought went through his head, he heard footsteps running down the stairs and out of the flat. Sherlock had left for parts unknown. John’s curiosity was piqued. He rubbed Mrs. Hudson’s arm and said, “I’m going to see where he’s going, I’ll stay far back, and make sure that he’s alright.”

“Oh, thank you dear. Please make sure he’s okay. This is all dreadful, it’s too much to take…I think I must have an herbal soother and a spot of tea. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Always, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll always come if you need me.”

He stepped out into the hallway and took a few deep breaths. Then, he peeked out the front door of 221b just in time to see a swirling Belstaff coat round the corner. He set out to follow it.


End file.
